


Dance With Me

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), assume their B and A can happen sooner than canon, before the white heron cup, this takes place vaguely around or after their B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28992198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: The White Heron Cup is coming soon, and Dorothea knows there's no competition.That is, up until she steps into the training grounds.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Felix Rarepair Week 2021





	Dance With Me

There were plenty of things that were laughable when it came to Garreg Mach. There were the nobles, obviously by their sheer predictability; some looked down on Dorothea because of where she came from and others would do anything to be near her because of what she was. Then there were the limited expectations people tended to have of her; few cared to think that she could already incinerate someone if she desired it, too easily conflating a pretty woman with a delicate one. Then, there was Ferdinand—perhaps fitting that category too well—finally giving her some peace while he buzzed over bees. 

But, perhaps most laughable of all, was that anyone thought there was any competition when it came to the White Heron cup. 

Professor Manuela had of course chosen Dorothea. It was almost cheating, considering that rhythm was as natural to her as her heartbeat, and that her body could follow dances like they were scripture. Of course, Manuela had dismissed such criticism with hardly a wink; after all, the nobles had been trained in various dances from the moment they could stand, while Dorothea only had an opera house’s training. It was plenty fair. 

Well, it would have been, if it appeared the other houses were invested at all. But, instead, Professor Hanniman had chosen Hilda—who would be a challenge, had the woman any desire whatsoever to put in any effort—and Professor Byleth had chosen Felix. 

Little else needed to be said about that. If they even could get Felix to perform, it would be an utter disaster. He’d probably just stand on stage, scowl, and run off back to the training grounds. They might as well have chosen no representative at all. 

Dorothea shook her head, returning her focus to the twist of her wrists and the shift of her ankle. The spin was still wrong, and the movements of her arms didn’t flow quite right. The dance was still lovely—the gawking onlookers during her earlier practice had made that rather clear—but it wasn’t right. And their whistles and praises had only been a distraction, making it impossible to take Manuela’s rather astute observations and put them to practice. 

But, with the moon above her, the classrooms were completely void of distractions. She could hum the music to herself, fall into the natural rhythm of her youth. The dewy grass beneath her was her stage, the stars above her audience. She could go again and again, and no one was there to bother her. 

Eventually, the chill began to bite at her fingertips, and the nighttime breeze was growing too unpleasant for her to appreciate its caresses. 

She exhaled softly, her breath coming out in a puff. She could rest; there was plenty of time to practice tomorrow. 

She kept her steps light and airy as she rounded the corner of the classroom yard to head back to her room. She didn’t want to wake anyone—she wasn’t like Sylvain, who clearly delighted in the salacious rumors around him. It wasn’t like she had to explain herself to anyone—those who mattered would understand her work, and those who didn’t wouldn’t care for the truth—but it would be a bother. 

But the sound of footsteps made her freeze. They weren’t slow—not like the guards who occasionally made the rounds around here—but fast, determined. They were practically stomps, echoing in the long and empty path just beyond the wall. 

If they were so determined, then perhaps they wouldn’t notice her. But she wasn’t going to take that risk. With a rather exasperated huff, she retreated back into the classroom area, peeking around the corner to see just who was dumb enough to be out this late at night. 

She wasn’t sure if she should be surprised to see that it was Felix, his expression a proper fury. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, swinging with stiff arms as he hurried to the direction of the training grounds—much like a child really. Every step echoed in the hall, only quiet in comparison to the way the training ground doors slammed shut behind him. 

She rolled her eyes; it shouldn’t have surprised her that he was training, even if it was late at night. It seemed he ever only stopped to eat, attend class, and sleep. 

Besides, she could have kept walking, walked right by him, and he wouldn’t even have noticed she was there. That, or he purposely would have pretended that she wasn’t. 

To an extent, it was nice that he wasn’t falling over himself like some of the nobles here, or that he wasn’t ignoring her because she was a commoner. Of course, that came with the fact that he couldn’t stand what he assumed she was like—just some dumb girl who wanted to marry rich. Granted, that was partially on her; to most people, she didn’t really show that she was much more than the pretty bird just waiting for the perfect gilded cage. 

A part of her wondered what he’d be like if he saw her in her entirety. The other part of her wondered how such a ridiculous thought got in her head in the first place. 

Well, as the threat was gone anyway, she stepped away from her hiding place. She wouldn’t have to be terribly quiet, since the thumps of Felix’s strikes would be loud enough to muffle them. They always were. 

And yet, as she passed Professor Byleth’s office, there was no sound. No sound of practice weapon against training dummy, no yells from Felix as he struck, not even the muffled noises of anything salacious (like he’d ever be one to manage that, but still).

It was just . . . quiet. 

Dorothea exhaled softly. She should just stay out of his business. He was annoyed enough when they crossed paths—thinking that she was always following him. She wasn’t, obviously; it just so happened that their paths crossed a lot, and he tended to be an interesting watch—for the amusement of his grouchiness, if nothing else. 

But, if something did happen, then it would be irresponsible for her not to do something. 

Besides, in the worst case, he’d just make a fuss again. And there was nothing particularly threatening about that. 

Still, even though there were no threats, she was cautious as she made her way to the training ground. It was best to be silent—she could hear if he did start training that way, and just head back to her room. Her fingers were light and delicate on the doorway, pushing it open with just the barest of shoves. The crack was just enough for her to peek inside. 

And inside was, perhaps, the most absurd thing she could have ever imagined. 

There was Felix, in the middle of the training ground. Not fighting a training dummy. Not holding a weapon. But dancing. 

And it wasn’t even like she could sarcastically call it dancing. True, he wasn’t quite dancing to any song—his movements were painfully slow and precise—but those were dance moves. His gaze was focused, snapping to every curl of his elbow and twist of his hips, lips shaped around inaudible words as he repeated each set of steps again and again. 

His cheeks were flush, but by the heaviness of his breaths, it was unlikely to be a blush. Sweat beaded down his brow. She wondered just how long he’d been practicing before he’d come here. 

And then he froze, his whole body tense. “Come out.”

Dorothea sighed, sliding through the door and shutting it nicely behind her. There was no reason to cause a scene, not if they didn’t want to attract a crowd. 

“Tch.” Felix scowled immediately, his arms crossing in front of him. “Isn’t following me in the daytime enough?”

“I wasn’t following you.” She protested, her arms crossing defensively in front of her chest.

He narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking to the weapon racks—like he could try to convince her that he’d only been practicing his swordsmanship. But he seemed to realize just how foolish that was. “What are you doing here?”

“I was practicing and I was about to call it a night.” She said, voice light. “I heard some noise so I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Felix merely scowled. “Clearly.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask if he meant ‘clearly it’s fine’ or ‘clearly she was only coming to help’. Knowing him, he wouldn’t tell her anyway. 

Silence settled between them, uneasy. He wasn’t shoving her away, and he wasn’t leaving, but he certainly wasn’t dancing. Was he just expecting her to leave?

She wasn’t going to make it that easy. “I’m surprised to find you here, actually.” 

“I’m always here.” 

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Dancing, Felix! I’m surprised to find you here dancing. Instead of, you know, swinging a sword around.”

He twitched—it was subtle in his shoulders and lips, but she could see it all the same. “I wasn’t—”

“Honestly,” she stepped closer, feeling the gravel beneath her boots, “I expected you to forego it. To just . . . not show up. I didn’t expect you to practice.”

He scoffed. “The Professor expects me to succeed. So I will. Even if it’s something as inane as this.”

She hummed, head tilted slightly. There was some merit in the fact that he wasn’t doing this for his class. He wasn’t trying to please them, or to increase their status. He wasn’t even trying to increase his own among them. He was expected to win, so he would make sure that he did; it wasn’t that different from the way she saw it, either. 

“Now, leave. So I can actually get this over with.”

“Would you like some tips?”

His expression mirrored how she felt—utterly confused. He was the competition, after all, and a complete jerk. She had no reason to want to help him, and nothing to gain from doing so. 

And yet . . . and yet there was something about the determination on his face earlier. Something utterly sincere. 

He looked away. “Not interested.” His jaw clenched in a way that she’d seen far too often. He wanted help, but his pride wouldn’t allow it. 

Her lips curled into a smile, her crossed arms falling into something far more relaxed as her weight shifted to one hip. “You know, your hands are all wrong. It makes the entire movement look lazy.”

He glared at her, expression fierce. “I didn’t ask your opinion.”

“Oh, I know. But this one’s for free.” She shifted, emulating the pose he’d been trying earlier. Hers was a little clumsy, still stiff in a way she couldn’t quite understand, but it was at least better than his. “If you make your wrists and hands follow through, then it looks complete.” She shifted, following into the move that she knew followed that one. 

He blinked. “You know Faerghan traditional dances?”

“Only one or two.” Then there was the next pose, which was more difficult merely because it was supposed to look simple. “And not the whole thing. They’re always used in operas about Loog and Kyphon, for whatever reason.”

Felix’s lip twitched. “You mean the romances.”

She blinked, movement faltering just slightly. She hardly took him for a literary man, let alone one who knew about romantic operas. “Well, yes.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, looking her over. But it wasn’t in the way that so many of the other nobles had. No, there wasn’t even the taste of that. He was evaluating her—the curve of her arm, the tilt of her wrist, the slightest sway of her hips—studying her just as well as anyone could study any book. 

“You should try it.” She encouraged. 

He scoffed. 

“This pose can make or break the whole performance.”

She expected him to disregard her again, but he didn’t. Instead, he slowly aligned himself with her, modifying his footing, the curve of his body, the tilt of his head. It was an almost perfect copy, except—

“Your wrists, Felix.”

He scowled. “What about them?”

She fell out of the pose, rubbing her temples. “You don’t swing a sword with a loose wrist, do you?” She held up a finger as he opened his mouth to speak. “No. You don’t. It ruins the power of the swing and can break your wrist. It’s the same thing with dancing.”

“Dancing is not like swordsmanship.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” 

She turned on her heel, sliding into a ready stance. With an imaginary blade at her side, she drew it, sliding her movements into long swings and dodges that just barely differed from spins. Each movement was thoughtful, precise—a delicate balance of swordplay and dance that she’d learned from the sword-fighting scenes in some of the older Faerghan operas. 

When she sheathed her imaginary sword, she looked back to him, a proud smile on her face. 

The look on his was something she couldn’t imagine from him of all people. His eyes were wide, caught on her like she was the most glorious thing he’d ever seen. His lips were parted, like he needed just a taste of adoration. Even his hands clenched at his sides, like he needed to focus. 

“Teach me.” He said, and her smile weakened. 

Of course. It wasn’t her that he was fascinated with, but the dance. It shouldn’t have surprised her; technically speaking, dancing did improve one’s grace and posture in all aspects. He just needed to be reminded that it would help his swordplay, too. 

“As if.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “We’re competition, remember?”

His scowl returned immediately. “Then why show me at all?”

Why, indeed? It wasn’t like she expected him to return the favor. There wasn’t much he could offer her, let alone anything she’d want from him. Their relationship was tenuous at best, too, and she didn’t dare to imagine there was any chance past that. And it wasn’t like she’d come here to mock him, either. She actually did want to help someone who was putting in an effort. Even if that someone was Felix.

Ah, maybe there was something he could do for her.

“How about a deal?” She said, laughing when he immediately prickled like a cat. “Nothing big. You see, I’m . . . having a hard time. Can’t seem to focus during the daytime practice.”

“I wonder why.” He muttered, voice flat. 

She decided to ignore the insult, for his own sake. “I think I need a better audience. You watch me, and help me. And I’ll watch you, and help you.”

“I’m no dancer.”

“Well, not yet. But I’m sure you’re half decent at being an audience.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, just stop being such a stick in the mud and watch.”

Her dance wasn’t the Faerghan one, but one from Adrestia. A dance made to accompany a lover’s ballad, designed to illustrate both the utter tragedy and the enthusiastic catharsis. She couldn’t help but hum to the song, body lost to its melody. She’d only performed it once on stage. 

But, even so, she knew this wasn’t right. 

When the dance ended, she ran her fingers through her hair. What was she missing?

A heavy exhale drew her away from herself, and back to the fact that she was being watched. Or, she had been. Felix was looking away, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together. His arms were crossed tighter than they’d been all night, weight slowly shifting from hip to hip. If he’d paid attention at all, it certainly hadn’t been for long. 

Ok, he was just being a jerk on purpose then. Like always. 

“Just . . . forget it.” She huffed, more furious than other. What had she even expected? She turned on her heel. “Good night, Felix.”

“Stiff.” He huffed. 

She paused mid-step. “Excuse me?”

“Your moves. They’re . . . stiff.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. 

“It’s like . . .” he ran a hand through his hair, cheeks red with his frustration, “you’re acting like you’re casting a spell when you’re using your sword. It’s different.”

Oh. 

The Academy’s lessons were always focused on battle. For Dorothea, it meant that she had to refine her magic, understand it as naturally as she did singing. And, while she did naturally know some magic since childhood, there was a significant difference between street use and those in the Academy. 

It was powerful magic. Moves had to be quick, rigid, and precise, otherwise they’d destroy the user and their allies. If her form slipped at all, the sigils could shatter and her magic would backfire. 

And she had studied it intensely. Practiced alone to make sure she never hurt anyone. After all, if she did manage to fail finding a good husband here, then she needed to know how to protect herself. The men back home certainly wouldn’t be as amateurish and forgiving as those here, after all. 

It seemed that she had studied it so hard, though, that she’d forgotten that not every movement needed to be so exact. Not if it needed to convey emotion and energy, too. 

“Oh.” She muttered, finger curling around one of her locks. “Thank you.”

He still didn’t look at her, instead nodding stiffly. 

“Well, um,” she swallowed, glancing toward the training ground’s door, “I should be going. Need my beauty sleep, after all.”

He nodded again. 

With a small sigh, she went to the door, the sound of gravel beneath her feet her only conversation. She could at least be glad that he hadn’t turned her away—she had expected him to, after all—though it didn’t change her estimation of him too much. He was still rude and inconsiderate. 

“You.” He said, his voice jolting through her like lightning. 

She glanced over her shoulder. And he still didn’t bother to use her name. 

He inhaled sharply. “If you wanted to practice here tomorrow, I wouldn’t send you away.”

She laughed. “Is that supposed to be generous?”

That glare came back with full force. “I just want some competition. Goneril is useless for it.”

Well, she was a little disappointed at the lack of competition. Helping Felix might just make it fun. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to reach out to me on Twitter! [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming).


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